


waiting for the sunlight

by sarcasticfishes



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Courtship, Developing Relationship, Multi, Polyamory, Virginity, Voyeurism, consummation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:01:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21574159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfishes/pseuds/sarcasticfishes
Summary: Sara had always known, growing up as both an only child and a princess, that she would likely not marry for love.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej/Sara Rubin
Comments: 65
Kudos: 175





	waiting for the sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> Yo where do I even start with this one? 
> 
> I've been complaining about this almost all year, so thank you to everyone who has put up with me (but especially [Jo](http://blacktofade.tumblr.com), who I first spilled this idea to back in April, and who gently encouraged me to finish it for seven months). This AU is a strange fusion of fantasy and regency that mostly comes from me binge-watching Game of Thrones right before I started writing it. There may be art on [my tumblr](http://ebonybow.tumblr.com) in future!!
> 
>   
> Little disclaimer: I don't know much about Sara's family and therefore have written her as an only child for the sake of fiction.
> 
> Title is from Sara Smile — Hall and Oates. Because why not.

_Sara had always known, growing up as both an only child and a princess, that she would likely not marry for love._

_As a young girl, she’d been frightened, terrified even, at the thought of being married off to some brute she barely knew, or a spoiled young highborn with notions of grandeur. And then, somehow, the universe had blessed her with one Shane Alexander Madej: youngest son of a noble family, an officer of the royal guard, and one of her father’s trusted advisors, older than her but not by much. He had a handsome face, a sense of humor, and most importantly of all, a kind, sweet disposition._

_She found that she loved spending time with him, walking in the gardens, taking breakfast together, watching him train with the soldiers and other officers in the afternoon sun. Shane was a conversationalist, loved to laugh and debate, loved to make her blush, and loved to talk of the future — their future, together. He knew the kingdom like the back of his hand and had only the best intentions for those he came into contact was. He would make a fine partner for Sara when it came time for her to rule._

_It was so easy to fall for Shane, that Sara barely even noticed it happening. She woke in the mornings, anxious to see him, fell asleep at night excited to see him again the next day._ _As they came to the end of their courtship, Sara had even been looking forward to the engagement, having thoroughly fallen for the man. She couldn’t even begin to imagine a life apart from the one she was about to spend with Shane._

_When the news of unrest in the Western Kingdom broke, water shortages leading to destruction and depression, the progress of their arrangement was put on hold until a solution and relief could be negotiated — and that was when the other shoe dropped._

.

Sara locks all doors to her chambers, climbs into her bed, and cries.

She doesn’t like to think of herself as an overly contrary person, she’s good at keeping her cool, keeping herself together when needed: however, some things truly call for a good old-fashioned tantrum. She quietly ignores the frantic begging of the staff, and then her own distraught mother, pleading with her to open the door. It’s all background noise to her anyway; the sounds are muffled as though she is underwater, and for the way she struggles to catch her breath she might as well be.

Then there’s a lull in the yelling, some gentle murmuring that she can’t quite make out from underneath her bedsheets.

“Your Royal Highness,” Shane calls, and knocks very gently at the door. She can imagine him standing there, knocking one knuckle against the paneling, still dressed in his formal attire from the afternoon meeting. “Sara,” he says, softer still, and it’s enough that she pulls herself from the downy depths of her comforter. “Can you let me in? Please.”

She cracks the door, because she owes him that much.

“Who else is out there?” she asks, hating the tremble in her voice and how she can't seem to control it. Shane’s brow is furrowed, he stoops to meet her eye through the gap.

“Your mother, your ladies. Andrew and some of the guard,” he murmurs. “Just me here, though. If you’d like to talk?”

Sara sighs, and opens the door, stepping back to let Shane through. She waits for a chaperone to follow, but Shane shuts the door behind him, though he leaves it unlocked.

It takes Sara a few seconds to process the fact that they’re _alone_ , but once she realizes, she’s not really sure what to do. Shane’s been to her chambers before, for chaperoned breakfasts with the hustle and bustle of the staff around them, the windows thrown open and the sounds of the gardens below. She doesn’t think they’ve ever been alone before, and it’s so very bittersweet.

Sara climbs back into the nest she’s made of her bed, watching Shane come close until he perches himself at the edge of her mattress. It’s somewhat improper, but Sara is too distraught to think about it too deeply.

“Did you know?” she asks, though she knows the answer. She can still picture the look on Shane’s face when her father made the announcement— the hard line of his mouth, and how he’d paled so quickly.

“No,” he says, quietly, “I had an inkling, but I’d hoped I was wrong. I thought— I thought it too archaic of a solution, I never thought… No.”

Sara nods, sinking down into her pillows. She’s still dressed in her gown from the morning, and her laces are starting to bother her more than she’d like to admit. She feels a little breathless from the crying.

“If it helps,” Shane begins, his back to her as though he can’t bear to look, staring down at his lap, “I’ve heard great things about the Bergaras.”

Sara scoffs, but it turns into more of a sob mid-breath. “It doesn’t help at _all_ , Shane.”

Shane chuckles, but the sound is humorless as he twists to face her. 

“Fond of me, are you?”

Sara huffs and tries to turn away, but he reaches for her — and he absolutely should not touch her so casually, especially not now, but she doesn’t stop him and she doesn’t care. His palm is so large against her cheek as he turns her face to him, thumb swiping a tear from her under-eye. He’s never touched her like this before, and it’s all she can think about.

“I’d gotten used to you,” she sighs, really meaning, _I’ve already fallen for you. I don’t want to marry someone else._

“It was a nice idea,” Shane agrees. “Us.”

“I’d already started thinking about what it’d be like. Ruling with you. Spending my life with you,” Sara admits, watching Shane’s lips pull down into a frown. It looks so unnatural on his mouth. “I’d thought about the wedding… Our first night.”

Shane’s shoulders go very stiff under his uniform jacket, and he reluctantly pulls his hand away, clenching into a fist as he brings it back to his own lap.

“Me too,” he sighs, and the admission is enough to send a bolt of heat through Sara’s core, followed quickly by icy despair. The idea that Shane has thought of her like that, wants her like that, makes her want to cry with the knowledge that it won’t ever happen now.

“Shane,” she says, desperate, tired. So terribly lonely.

“I’ll still be around, darling,” he says, and catches her hand in his, closing his fingers around hers. “I’ve been working closely with the guard. And your father… often seeks my counsel. He’d prefer to keep me here in the estate, I think.”

Sara sighs heavily and pulls herself into a sitting position. She’d listened to her father’s speech for as long as she could bear before fleeing, she knew the basics of what was to be expected from her future marriage now, but maybe Shane knew more.

“What do you know of the prince?”

If there’s one opinion she trusts without a doubt, it’s Shane’s.

“Not a lot,” Shane shrugs. “But what I’ve heard has been mixed, mostly regarding his choice to abdicate the throne.”

“He’s the eldest?” Sara asks, confused when Shane nods.

“Yes, his younger brother will take the throne when the time comes. He’s never publicly given a reason for doing this. Other than the usual gossip and murmurings, I’ve heard he’s a good man. You could do much worse.” 

This time it’s Sara reaching for him, slipping her fingers around his wrist, tugging him down into her nest of sheets. They both know Shane should resist, knows he shouldn’t even be sitting on her bed let alone laying in it, but he falls into her easily, carefully tucking his chin into her neck, his nose pressed against her jaw as he breathes her in.

It’s a poor mockery of what could have been, but for the moment it’s comforting to feel the broad span of his hand over her waist, warm even through the layers of her gown and it’s boning, the taut corset beneath.

Soon he’ll have to leave, Sara will have to face her parents, and her fate will be sealed. 

.

Within the week they’re awaiting the arrival of Prince Bergara.

Sara’s been shown photographs — he’s quite easy on the eyes, but Sara doesn’t let herself linger on it all that much. She’s still stinging, her time with Shane having been cut down substantially. She sees him occasionally between meals, passing in the corridors and sharing quick smiles, but it’s clear that there are forces at work to keep them apart.

Her first meeting with the prince happens in the courtyard, and it turns out to be rather anti-climactic. He’s taller than her by about a head, not quite as looming as Shane but broader in the shoulder and chest, classically handsome with a strong nose and full mouth.

He bends the knee and kisses her hand, muttering a soft, reverent _‘Your Royal Highness,’_ as though he is not her equal. Sara wonders if perhaps the prince has gotten too used to the idea of abdicating his throne.

After their short introduction, she doesn't see him again for days. Frankly, she doesn't _want_ to.

.

Shane is finishing up in the stable for the afternoon when he finds himself face to face with the prince, standing in the open entrance, looking more sheepish than any royal man should, flanked by two of his personal guards.

Shane bows his head, “Your Highness,” he defers, and the prince shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

Turning to one of his men, the prince murmurs something and the guards not reverently before they retreat to the outside of the stable, leaving Shane alone with him.

“Ser Madej. I didn’t expect to see you out here,” he says, quietly.

They haven’t been formally introduced yet, but Shane’s not sure it’s entirely needed.

“I had an errand to run, decided to take one of the horses out,” Shane explains, curtly. “Is there anything I can help you with.”

The prince looks as though he wants to say something, but instead shakes his head. “His Majesty suggested I take a ride and get a grip on the grounds. My men will be with me.”

Shane nods in understanding, and an awkward silence blooms until Shane gives another respectful head-nod, even bending his knee a little. His height can sometimes be quite intimidating.

“Then if you’ll excuse me,” he murmurs, and turns on heel. He only gets as far as the door before Prince Bergara stops him in his tracks with six simple words.

“I won’t get in the way,” he calls after Shane, the note of desperation in his voice undeniable. Shane turns slowly to face him, confused.

“Pardon, your Grace?”

“I— We’re alone here,” the prince says, a little awkwardly. “Ryan is fine, truly.”

Shane blinks in disbelief. He tilts his head, slightly impatient.

“Alright,” the prince sighs. “I’ve just— I know the King would like that you remain in the estate for the foreseeable future, and I know this situation must be unbearable.”

Shane waits. The prince looks at him openly, earnestly, and Shane wonders if he is even possible at hiding his emotions at all; his eyes are so expressive. He must be terrible at cards, constantly showing his hand.

“I only mean to say that I’m under no illusions to what this marriage means to the princess,” Prince Bergara says eventually, looking sheepish. “I know she cares for you deeply. I wouldn’t stand in the way if you were to... to take up with her after the wedding.”

Shane, if anything, blinks harder. He wonders if his ears deceive him— if he is really hearing what he’s hearing.

“I only ask that you be discreet,” the prince finishes, head bowed almost in deference if Shane didn’t think better.

“Your— Your grace,” he stutters.

“It’s _Ryan_ , please,” the prince corrects, quickly, and Shane is astounded by his insistence, “Listen, I know this isn’t fair on you.”

“It’s not,” Shane agrees. “But not on you, either. And especially not on Sara.”

“Sara,” the Prince says, so soft that Shane barely hears it at all, but sees the way Ryan’s eyes soften, the way his shoulders sink. “No. Definitely not fair on her.”

Shane takes a few steps back towards Ryan, arms folded across his chest but his stride casual. He tucks his shoulders in to appear smaller.

“I can’t imagine you were better warned of the arrangement either,” he says, and Ryan seems to chuckle, silently.

“No.”

“Did you have someone, back home?”

Ryan clears his throat, rocking on the balls of his feet, almost embarrassed. “I had my eye on a noble girl,” he admits. “The Princess reminds me of her in some ways.”

“Oh?” 

“Curly hair, green eyes,” he pauses. “The kind of woman that just demands attention, radiates intelligence. You know?”

Shane finds himself smiling. “I know.”

Ryan smiles back, and it lights up his entire face, sweet and bright. Over the years, Shane had heard many things about the eldest prince out West. How he was handsome and kind, how his people loved him. Shane had often thought it all propaganda, but here, alone with Ryan, he could maybe begin to understand.

“Your people will miss you back in your kingdom,” he says, and Ryan’s smile wavers, melting into something a little more melancholy, and he shakes his head shortly.

“I’m sure,” he agrees. “But I never wanted to follow my father’s path.”

“No?” Shane frowns. “Never wanted to be a king?”

“You’re skeptical.”

There’s a slight edge in Ryan’s voice, and Shane finds himself almost tripping over himself to correct it.

“I mean no disrespect, Your—Ryan. _Ryan_ ,” he fumbles. “I just don’t understand why a man would rather be a prince consort than a king, especially as the firstborn son.”

Ryan looks thoughtful for a moment and finds one of the stable’s support beams to lean back against, arms folded. He’s dressed like a highborn — like a prince with every finery available at his fingertips — but he stands like a commoner, a casual hunch to his round shoulders. There’s something quite charming about it, and Shane finds himself relaxing too and sinking down into a nearby stool, something the stable boys use when tending to the horses.

“You’re a second son, yes?” Ryan asks, and Shane nods affirmatively. Ryan’s smile reappears, smaller than before. “Did you never wish you could have taken your brother’s place, inherited what was ahead for him?”

Shane nods again, as though the answer is obvious.

“Doesn’t every second son?”

“I expect so,” Ryan agrees. “I think my father knew, from when I was very young, that I was never truly interested in ruling.”

“Not even the slightest?” Shane asks.

“Mm, maybe a slight,” Ryan catches his eye, and grins. “Please don’t misunderstand me, I love my country, love my _people_. But I’ve never been the ruling type, I promise you. Jake, however… It’s like he and our father are one and the same. Take one look at him — he _looks_ like a king. The way he speaks, the way he holds himself. His interest in all of the politics and other tooth-achingly boring things.”

Ryan takes a slight breath and then straightens himself. “I was sixteen when I told father I’d abdicate. Jake was thirteen, but he took to it like a duck to water, he was ready to learn how to rule. Even back then, I knew I had made the right decision.”

“What did you do?” Shane asks. “Once you were no longer required to prepare for kingship?”

“I liked to write,” Ryan replies, tilting his head to Shane again. That same bow of deference, the same sly upward curve of his lips. Shane doesn’t know what it means.

“Well,” he chuckles. “You certainly have a way with words, I’ll give you that.”

“Thank you,” Ryan says, and there’s a hint of pink to his cheeks, brighter than before, and Shane can’t stop looking at him.

“I won’t keep you any longer,” Shane says, after a few moments of silent stares. “Best to take a ride through the grounds now while the weather holds. It’s beautiful this time of year.”

Ryan smiles at him again, close-lipped and more subdued than before. “Yes,” he agrees. “Thank you for taking a moment to speak with me, Ser.”

Shane clears his throat a little.

“Shane,” he says.

“Hmm?”

Shane takes a step closer to the prince, close enough that Ryan has to tilt his head up to hold the eye contact.

“Call me Shane,” he says, voice gentle. “We’re alone here.”

He sees the moment of realization on Ryan’s face. Two young men, tied by duty to a family they were not born into. Alone, together.

“Shane,” Ryan says, back to him.

“Ryan,” Shane answers, and then takes his leave with a short, cordial bow.

.

It’s later that week when Shane sees Sara for the first time since the Prince’s arrival. He spies her making her way through the gardens and alters his route, just to have a chance at crossing her path. She sees him from afar, and his stomach somersaults as she lights up, lips curving daintily, cheeks appling.

“Your highness,” he smiles, once within earshot.

“Ser Madej,” she beams at him, and shoos away her ladies, giving them both some space to speak freely. Shane offers Sara his arm, leading her to sit for a moment on a nearby bench. He discreetly picks up her hand as they sit together, slipping his fingers through hers.

“It’s been a few days,” he says, and knows he doesn’t need to say much more than that for Sara to pick up his meaning. They still see one another almost every day, at meals, passing one another politely in the halls, but since the end of their courtship, the two have barely spoken a word to each other. Not by choice, of course, Shane would spend all day every day talking with Sara if he could, courtship or none.

“I miss you too,” Sara replies, and Shane’s shoulders sink.

“How’ve you been?” Shane asks her, and he’s still holding her hand. It’s probably improper, but he doesn’t really care.

Sara’s smile takes a turn towards strained, upset. “Lonely,” she admits. “I got… quite used to seeing you every day.”

“Me too,” Shane agrees and squeezes her hand. It’s been hard, having been used to the idea that he would be marrying Sara, that they would spend their lives together. He’s not sure he’ll ever get over it, or ever stop loving her. “Have you not been seeing the prince?”

Sara’s nose wrinkles, and it’s unbearably sweet. 

“I don’t really want to see him,” she says, though without malice, using her free hand to pick at the beading of her skirt. It’s still summer, and the hot weather has her arms and neck bare, pale and vulnerable in the sun. Shane, so badly, wants to touch more than just her hand.

“You’ll have to see him sometime,” Shane rubs his thumb over Sara’s knuckles, feels her hand flex in his grip. She doesn’t reply, instead tilting her chin up and inhaling deeply. To an outsider, it might look as though she was turning her nose up at him, but Shane knows she’s simply trying not to cry. Not for his sake, but for the fact that it would draw too much attention.

“I’m still so angry,” Sara says, eventually, her voice weak and unlike itself. “And I’m alone.”

“Ryan’s alone too.”

Sara turns to him, eyes sharp, noticing the familiarity.

“Have you—”

“I’ve spoken with him, yes. Not for very long, but long enough for me to know that he’s kind, and that he wants the best for you.”

In the days since his talk with Ryan, Shane hasn’t been able to think about much else; Ryan’s selflessness, everything he’s willing to give up just to be able to help others, his informality, the ease with which he just exists here in a place that is not his home. 

Sara is quiet for a few moments. Her palm is clammy against Shane’s, but it’s far from the worst feeling in the world.

“Kind, you say?”

Shane smiles. “It’s in his eyes.”

Sara hums a soft agreement but doesn’t say much else. They listen to the buzzing of bees in the garden, the birds singing in the trees. It all feels so far away.

“I know it was your dream to marry for love, and I think. I think that’s still an option.”

“I _don’t_ believe—”

“Take a meal with him, privately,” Shane cuts her off, despite all his self-preservational instincts, “Be open-minded about him.”

“I don’t know why you’re so insistent about him all of a sudden. It all seems very fast.”

“I want you to be _happy_ , Sara.”

Sara’s eyes fall to their still-clasped hands, and in his peripheral Shane can see her handmaidens getting impatient and edging forwards. Megan looks most anxious of all, hovering near the front of the group and keeping a close eye on them. They don’t have much time left.

“I’m not sure if I’ll ever love him. But I will try to like him.”

Shane fights down a chuckle at her bluntness. “That’s my girl,” he says, as he rises to his feet and helps her stand too, an accommodating palm cupping her elbow — simply an excuse to touch more skin. “Besides, he’s not too terrible on the eyes, is he?”

It’s impressive how quickly Sara’s cheeks flush.

“I suppose not,” she answers, a little stiffly,

“So the marriage bed won’t be _too_ laborious for you.”

“ _Shane,_ ” she gasps, perhaps not surprised by his words, but the fact that he said them as her ladies began to approach. He knows they’re not within earshot just yet, otherwise, Sara wouldn’t have called him by his name.

“I don’t think he’ll have much of a problem either,” he adds, matter-of-factly, and Sara all but rips her hand from his, her cheeks glowing furiously. She’s not angry though, he can tell by the glimmer in her eye, her almost-smile. Excitement, maybe?

“Have a good day, my lady,” Shane says, as he leads Sara to her maidens. They seem eager to take her off his hands.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she says, adding a quiet “Ser Madej,” as she is steered away, back down her original path, wherever the afternoon would take her.

.

Sara surprises no one more than herself when she actually takes Shane’s words to heart, and invites the Prince to a private breakfast together. Back when she and Shane were on track to be married, they often liked to have a quiet breakfast together in Sara’s room overlooking the gardens just to be in one another’s company, the last time they’d done so less than a fortnight ago. Now, the table by her window was even dressed the same way it would be if Shane were joining her, and the thought makes her frown as she takes her seat, and her ladies fuss over the robe that keeps slipping off her shoulder, revealing the shoulder of her nightgown.

It’s as she finally shoos them away in annoyance that the prince decides to make an appearance, looking a little flustered as he is led into the room by one of his own guards.

“Your Grace,” he croaks, as he takes his seat opposite Sara, blinking slow and blearily. “Good morning.”

“Likewise,” she says. “Not an early riser, I take it?”

The prince clears his throat gently, running a hand freely through his hair, and it sticks on end as he releases it. He’s unshaven, and the dark stubble in the hollows of his cheeks makes him look older, but not unfortunately so. 

“I try to be,” he admits, “I’m just very fond of my bed, my lady.”

As they wait for breakfast to arrive and be served, Sara finally allows herself to take a good look at her husband-to-be. Up until this point, she’s been in full denial, refusing to talk to or even think about the Prince, but her meeting with Shane in the garden had been a real reality check. One way or another, she would have to marry Ryan Bergara, and it wouldn’t help her to ignore the fact any longer.

And the thing is, Shane is right about the Prince. He’s not particularly hard on the eyes at all, in fact actually rather attractive. Sara would say even more so now than he was at their first meeting, groomed and dressed in his best clothes. It doesn’t surprise her at all though, she had thought the same of Shane when it had been him sitting opposite her, unshaven and undressed, chin in his hand and slumping over a cup of coffee. 

“I was surprised by your invitation,” he says, quietly. “I didn’t expect you would want to see me.”

“We’re going to be married,” Sara says, her voice stiff judging from the way the Prince’s mouth twists just so slightly. “We’re going to have to see one another. Going to have to do more than that, eventually.”

It’s been at the back of her mind since Shane had mentioned the marriage bed, and not just the thought of sex. They would have to produce an heir eventually, ideally more than one, and that would likely require a number of attempts.

“Yes,” the Prince agrees quietly, the apples of his cheeks faintly pink.

“I’m sorry if you find me… standoffish, Your Highness. I’m trying,” Sara adds apologetically, and watches as her betrothed plays with the edge of his napkin, flipping it between the pad of his thumb and forefinger.

After a moment, he clears his throat.

“Would it be presumptuous to ask you to call me by my name?” he asks, eyes lifting to meet hers. Sara mulls it over for a moment.

“I suppose not,” she says. “I think I’d like for us to be friends… Ryan.”

“I’d like that too,” he replies, and when Sara looks at him again and thinks the name _Ryan_ , feeling it on the tip of her tongue, he’s already more of a person to her than he was just moments earlier. Not just a prince, or her consort, but a potential partner.

“I would extend you the same courtesy,” she says, and Ryan’s smile is warm and soft, close-lipped and still sleepy.

“Thank you, my lady,” he says, and Sara can tell by his eyes that the title is meant affectionately, rather than a formality.

When their breakfast arrives and is laid out, there’s little conversation between them, both eating quietly, and looking out into the gardens, alone but for their chaperones, who sit at the other side of the room talking quietly amongst themselves.

“It’s so green out here,” Ryan says, “Even in the summer. Hard to believe it can get as cold as you say.”

“I’ve never been out West,” Sara admits. “What’s it like?”

“Dry,” Ryan says, and then laughs very softly. “We have green parts too, but a lot of it is desert. None of it quite like what I saw on the way here. Endless fields of crops. Rivers swelled despite the Summer heat.”

“Are there droughts often in your kingdom?”

Ryan nods very slightly. “Never quite as bad as this year was. It’s part of— part of the reason I’m here. To help them.”

Sara hasn’t been privy to most of the details regarding her and Ryan’s marriage, the benefits and treaties that came with it. She just knew that it was supposed to be beneficial to the country as a whole, opening up new trade paths and easy flow of commerce between the Kingdoms.

“I didn’t know,” Ryan says, and interrupts her train of thought. “I never thought they would… I never thought that they would try to marry me to someone already betrothed.”

“Ryan,” Sara sighs, strained. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not,” he responds, almost inaudible. “When I first arrived and met you in the hall, I saw him. And I asked, _who’s that man?_ You know, because he’s ridiculously large.”

Sara has to fight back a snort, unladylike and inappropriate in the moment.

“Do you know what they told me? _That’s Ser Madej. I’m afraid you’ve stolen his lady._ ”

Sara grimaces. “Who said that? It’s rather offensive.”

“Awful,” Ryan agrees, but doesn’t name names, “but at least it told me why he looked at me like that. Like my entire existence was a personal affront.”

Ryan’s mouth twists, and he takes a drink from his water cup, as though to stop himself from saying anything more.

“He doesn’t look at you like that anymore, I hope?” Sara asks, and Ryan shakes his head, meets her eyes.

“No. Now that he knows I’m not a threat.”

Sara, confused, pushes her plate away and rests her arms on the table.

“Now what does that mean?”

Ryan clears his throat, “Have you spoken with him recently?”

“Yes?” Sara asks, “I saw him in the gardens, he said— he said you’d spoken with him. What did you tell him?”

Ryan runs a hand over his unshaven face, sparing a glance to their chaperones, who don’t seem to be paying much attention. Still, he leans forward and lowers his voice.

“I told him the truth. That I know he and you are in love, nothing is going to change that, and once we’re married I’m not going to get in the way of you and him.”

Sara sits back once again, letting the words rush over her, the meaning behind them. She feels stiff, straight-backed against her chair with shock. Her hand shakes as she reaches for her glass, taking a long drink of water, her mouth suddenly dry.

“That’s ridiculous,” she says, her voice trembling. The prince seems to sigh and deflate.

“Sara, I’m under no illusions as to what this marriage means to you,” Ryan says, the ease of his tone telling her that it’s something he’s said before, something he’s mulled over many times. “You don’t love me. And in an ideal world, I’d hope that someday you could learn to, but all of this is _far_ from ideal.”

“You don’t know that,” Sara hisses.

“No, but I do know that you love Shane, and he loves you, and I’m just an obstruction to that, something I never wanted to be.”

“I’m to be Queen, I can’t take a _lover_.”

“Many Kings and Queens have done so before you,” Ryan argues. “It wouldn’t be a problem as long as we produce a legitimate heir.”

“But it’s ridiculous, you’d be— you’d be resigning yourself to a life of loneliness.”

Something seems to snap in Ryan, his hand flexing against the tablecloth, pulling at the satin. He’s quiet, a strange hot energy coming off him, not quite anger, not even annoyance. Something Sara cannot place.

“I’m just trying to make this more sufferable for us both,” he argues, hushed. “I’m already alone, Sara, but I won’t be _lonely_ if I have you as my friend.”

Frustration.

Ryan doesn’t seem to want to meet her eyes after that, and so Sara reaches out to him, places her palm over the back of his hand where it’s clenched in the table cloth. She feels the tendons jump beneath her touch, as though he almost flinched, but controlled himself at the last moment.

“Alright,” she says softly. “Let’s see what happens after the wedding.”

Ryan nods, leaning back in his chair, gaze still turned out the window. From here they can see the gardens, the stables beyond, the guard training in the courtyard and the sounds of their fighting. Ryan seems thoughtful. He turns his hand over beneath hers, carefully curling his fingers under her palm, his thumb over her knuckles. It’s surprisingly easy for her to just sit there and hold his hand.

“I’d like to make you happy, my lady,” he says, eventually. “I’d like for you to someday enjoy my company.”

Sara looks at him and thinks maybe she’s already beginning to.

.

The summer continues to grow hotter as they finally slip into the second half of the year, and Ryan’s presence in Sara’s life becomes more persistent, though it’s not as bothersome as had expected. 

Often they take breakfast together in her room, and sometimes it’s the only time they’ll see each other during the day. The King often requires the prince’s opinion on matters regarding the Western Kingdom, meetings at which Shane is also present. Sara thinks that maybe Shane sees Ryan more than she does, which doesn’t bother her, though she does admit she’s come to enjoy the mornings where he lingers in her room, well past breakfast time. She’s rather fond of the way he grins as he’s ushered away, leaving her with a polite kiss to the back of her hand, and the flowers he sometimes presents to her upon arrival.

If Ryan wants her as a friend, she’ll gladly be his friend, but despite her best personal effort, Sara starts to feel _more_.

First, she blames it purely on her body as she gets close to a monthly bleed, her drive always heightened just before and during. It's an easy handwave for the way her thoughts flicker from Shane to Ryan and back again when she’s alone, when she takes her own pleasure. When the feeling persists, she blames Ryan and his easy familiarity. It had taken so long for her and Shane to progress to calling one another by their names, rather than by titles or formalities. The same courtesy had come much quicker with Ryan.

She tells herself it’s purely physical attraction, because she still doesn’t know all that much about him but her first impression of him. Yes, it appears he’s just as kind as Shane thinks he is, considerate and romantic too, a bit of a joker given the chance. It’s obvious that he loves his family and misses them, but he cares incredibly deeply for his homeland and his people, so much so that he was willing to move across the country to help them. The court and the people love him too, for his friendliness and his loud, boisterous laugh — and maybe Sara already knows more about Ryan than she allows herself to think about.

“I’m an open book,” he tells her, over one of their breakfasts, and so Sara asks him about his brother, and falls a little bit further as she listens to him talk.

One day, on the way to lunch, she hears his laugh in the halls near the library and turns to find him and Shane exiting together, deep in conversation, coming to halt when they see her at the end of the corridor. They smile at her with identical softening gazes, and Ryan tentatively raises his hand to wave to her, Shane’s hand gripping Ryan’s shoulder closest to him.

She’s never seen them in such close proximity before, and the site is so — so disruptive to her, that she barely musters a polite wave before she’s being steered in the opposite direction. She swears, as she turns away, that she sees Shane lean down to whisper something into Ryan’s ear.

During the afternoon, Sara’s ladies bring her down to the courtyard to take in some sun — though Sara’s sneaking suspicion tells her that they quite like watching the soldiers spar on the cobbles. Regardless, she doesn’t begrudge the possibility of spotting Shane among the other officers.

It’s a stiflingly hot afternoon, and Sara sits in a shaded corner of the yard; there’s no breeze, and the sun beats down on the dusty stones, soldiers kicking up clouds of dirt in their practice. Shane stands head and shoulders above the rest of them, watching them with sharp eyes, yet his expression sweetens as he catches Sara’s eye, bowing his head ever so slightly. He looks handsome in his uniform, dark green to match the colors of the royal family’s crest. The gold buttons and trimmings catch the light, gleaming in the sun.

“I did always think of him as a kind man,” Megan says, next to Sara on the bench. “He took it very well when your courtship ended. Not every man would be so forgiving.”

Sara nods, idly fanning herself.

“He’s always been a different kind. Not sure I’ve met a man like him before. Not sure I ever will again.”

“Prince Ryan seems like a good man too,” Lindsay adds, chin in her hand. “He seems to enjoy your company very much.”

“Yes, he’s—” Sara begins to agree, and then catches herself mid-sentence as something catches her eye. “Speak of the devil, Miss Lindsay.”

Ryan strides across the courtyard from the other end, almost faster than his guards can keep up. Sara giggles at the sight of his men, flustered as they follow a man obviously on a breakout mission. Sara’s almost positive that Ryan is supposed to be elsewhere right now.

The soldiers sparring in the yard come to a halt as Ryan nears them, and they arrange themselves to bow politely in his presence. Ryan bypasses them to greet the officers (Shane, but also Sers Marchbank and Ilnyckyj), gripping their hands and grinning. Sara notices now that he’s not dressed in his usual fine attire, but a plain loose shirt, pants, and boots that look worn around the heel.

“Would anyone like to spar with the prince?” Marchbank asks, and when there is no reply from the soldiers, Shane chuckles and starts to unbutton his overjacket.

“I suppose I would,” he says, and Sara sees Ryan’s eyes light up. Somehow, he grins even wider, something Sara wasn’t sure was possible. “Wooden swords, though.”

Ryan nods agreeably, retreating into the center of the yard where Shane follows, tossing him a wooden sword, which Ryan catches and tests the weight of in his hand.

“Are they really going to fight?” Megan asks quietly, and Sara feels herself leaning forward, as though it would give her a better view of the proceedings. “It’s hardly fair, Ser Madej must have a good foot on the prince.”

“Not quite a foot,” Sara laughs. “I’m sure Ryan can stand his own.”

If the ladies notice her familiarity, they don’t say a word.

If anything, the men are incredibly well-matched from what Sara can see. They’re both remarkably quick, light on their feet; having seen neither of them spar before she’s pleasantly surprised. Every time she thinks Shane might have the upper hand, Ryan comes back at him to even the playing field again, and vice versa.

Both take a step back to catch their breath, swords down, both sweating profusely. Shane pauses to take a drink from a canteen handed to him by one of the soldiers. He drinks deeply, sweeping his hair back from where it had stuck to his forehead. Ryan, on the other hand, doesn’t seem _as_ affected by the heat — though that might be down to the fact that he’s used to a much dryer climate out west. He does, however, pause to pull his shirt up over his head, throwing it aside onto the cobbles as he picks his sword up again.

Shane promptly spills water on himself.

Sara thinks if she were in the same position, she would have done the same. Even in his finery, it’s easy to tell that the prince is a well-built man — seeing it in person is another thing entirely. He _shines_ in the sun, and Sara feels her mouth go dry.

This time, when they begin their match again, there’s something different about Shane, something almost unhinged. He’s sharper, faster, and he doesn’t look away from Ryan’s face for even a second — but in all fairness, Ryan doesn’t look away either.

Shane knocks Ryan to the ground with a well-placed sweep, the tip of the wooden sword pointed to his throat, and there’s an audible gasp from the soldiers. Ryan, on his back, takes a moment to breathe before he licks his lips and begins to laugh.

“Alright,” he says from the ground. “You win.”

Shane, after a moment, lowers his sword and extends his hand to Ryan, pulling him up off the ground and patting him on the back. It looks as though he might say something into Ryan’s ear, but they’re simply too far away for Sara to hear. Ryan slips his shirt back over his shoulders, tucking the front tails into his pants without redoing the buttons as he follows Shane back to the other officers who immediately pull him into a conversation in the shade. Slowly but surely, the soldiers reform their lines and begin to practice again once more.

“Ladies,” Sara says, quietly, “It’s quite warm today. I think I’ll take an afternoon rest if that’s alright.”

Megan and Lindsay say nothing, but rise to accompany Sara back to her chambers; if she feels a little light-headed, she’s absolutely going to blame it on the weather.

.

Ryan finds himself retreating to the library most evenings before dinner. After his stint with Shane in the courtyard, he’d been escorted back to his chambers to clean up, and a rather nice handmaid had dressed the scratches on his back from his tumble — though, the cleaning had hurt more than the actual scratches.

With some time to spare before spending the evening with Sara, he makes his way down to the Rubins’ library and finds his new favorite spot amongst the stacks near the back. He doesn’t just read here, sometimes writing in his journal, taking notes of the books he reads — his favorites are the mysteries, although his mother had always teased him for figuring out the endings before he got there.

He tucks himself down into the large overstuffed sofa against the very last stack, opening his notebook in his lap, but it isn’t long before he hears one of the heavy oak doors at the other end of the room swing open, light footsteps coming down the aisle. Shane peers around the corner of the aisle and smiles when he spots Ryan.

“Ah. Hoped I’d find you here,” he says. “May I join you?”

“Yeah, of course,” Ryan grins, tipping his head slightly. “You don’t need to be so formal.”

Shane raises an eyebrow at him, and leans heavily, casually, into the shelves. “You never know who’s around. I should act so proper towards the prince consort.”

Ryan huffs out a little laugh, scribbling in the corner of one of his notebooks. He’s no artist — his talent with a pen definitely lies in his words — but he can doodle a daisy like no other.

Shane sits next to him on the couch and sighs. He’s changed out of his deep green officers’ attire and into something more casual for the evening, a plain sweater and pants — well, plain until Ryan gets a closer look. The cuffs of his sweater are embroidered rather elegantly with gold thread, standing out against the navy blue. They sit neatly against his wrists, which manage to look both strong and delicate at the same time. Ryan tears his eyes away and instead flips a few pages back in his notebook, not reading but rather pretending to.

“I like your sweater,” he says quietly. “Subtle.”

“Thank you,” Shane replies, after a moment. “Sara… gifted it to me, when we were still— she knows I’m a man of comfort.”

“I bet,” Ryan agrees, not unkindly. “She knows your colors too. Blues— blues look well on you.”

Shane turns on his hip towards Ryan, resting his arm along the back of the couch. It’s probably far more casual than decent between them but, as Ryan said, there’s no need to be formal here. It’s just the two of them.

“You’re full of flattery today,” Shane says.

“Just saying what comes to mind,” Ryan replies, shrugging. “I like your sweater. It looks good on you.”

“Much nicer than that awful uniform, hmm?”

Ryan smirks. “It’s not as bad as you think it is. Makes you look tall.”

Shane laughs, “Alright, if that’s what it is.”

Ryan looks back down at his notebook again and swears he feels the ghost of a touch to the back of his head, as though Shane had been touching his hair.

“What do you do in here?” Shane asks, “I see you down this corridor often.”

“Reading. Mysteries usually,” Ryan shrugs. “Write in my book if I feel like it.”

“What do you write in that thing?” Shane asks, tipping his head towards the book in Ryan’s lap. Ryan feels his stomach twist, but he’s unable to pin down an exact reason. It’s not often anyone asks about his interests, and the fact that it’s Shane asking might factor in. He’s not going to scrutinize it.

“Oh, just thoughts, experiences,” he shrugs. “I suppose I’m journalling more than note-taking. It’s just a personal book, my handwriting is rather terrible.”

“I won’t ask to see it, then,” Shane smiles, and Ryan _definitely_ feels a touch against the nape of his neck this time. Ryan writes an exclamation point in his notebook and then closes it, pulling the binding string over the edge and tucking his pen into the loop.

“Good,” he says, “Because I’m not showing you.”

Shane scoffs, looking away with a smile — and Ryan would swear he was blushing too. After a few moments of silence, of Ryan just looking at Shane, taking him in, Shane finally speaks again.

“The soldiers didn’t know what to make of you today, when you came across the yard like that. I think you proved yourself to them rather quickly.”

“I lost,” Ryan rolls his eyes.

“You lost well. Any other day you’d have beaten me,” Shane offers. “Might have beaten me today if you’d kept your shirt on.”

“Incensed you that much to see me naked, did it?”

“Yes.” 

Shane answers without hesitation, without explanation, letting it hang in the air as Ryan sits there, speechless. He feels an aura of something, radiating off of Shane in waves, not anger but something just as dark and hot. Curious, Ryan tilts his head into Shane’s touch encouragingly, arm still resting along the headrest of the couch. He’s daring Shane to touch him.

“I’m dining with Sara tonight, I should probably take some time to prepare. Clean up,” he says, even though he’d just bathed after coming back from the courtyard. It’d be no harm to have some time to himself before he sees Sara.

“Yeah, of course,” Shane replies, the same soft tone with which Ryan had said those words to him earlier. Shane touches him one last time, boldly combing his fingers up through the back of Ryan’s hair — his touch is tender, and Ryan allows him to linger for a moment before gathering his books again and standing to leave. He feels almost lightheaded when he walks away.

“Ryan,” Shane calls, as he reaches the end of the stack, and Ryan turns to find Shane following him, lips pursed in thought.

“Yes?”

“I was wondering if— well, maybe if you would give something to Sara for me. If possible.”

Ryan feels something in him ache at Shane’s curious yet nervous request. He must miss Sara terribly, Ryan knows exactly how hard it is to go from spending most of your time with someone to barely speaking to them.

“Whatever you need,” Ryan answers, and watches Shane’s eyes soften as he draws closer.

“Alright,” Shane says, quietly, and cups his hands around Ryan’s face, leaning down to seal their mouths together.

Ryan is frozen to the spot. For a moment he thinks surely he’s fallen asleep on the couch? It’s been so warm between the sun coming from the windows and the heat of Shane’s body next to him — so quiet except for their breathing and murmurs. Surely he’s asleep. 

But then when Ryan doesn’t respond, Shane makes this sound, this quiet and frantic sound, pressing into the kiss almost desperately. Ryan feels the grain of Shane’s stubble against his and gasps softly, opening his mouth to accept Shane’s kiss. He brings his hands up and fists them in the front of Shane’s sweater — and Shane must think he’s pushing him away, starts to pull back but, instead, Ryan pulls him in deeper.

With Ryan’s momentum, Shane presses him into the stacks, still kissing him and not stopping, slowly drawing his hands down from Ryan’s face to his arms, to his waist and around his hips to pull them in close to his own. It’s the shock of pleasure, the pressure of Shane’s thigh pressing between his legs as they twine even closer that brings Ryan back to reality.

He remembers where he is, _who_ he is — the kind of treason this could be construed as. Luckily, Shane pulls back then, giving Ryan a little space, catching his breath.

Shane’s mouth is so, so red. So obviously kissed.

Ryan’s chest feels heavy and tight.

“Yes, alright, sure,” he says, breathless. “I have to go now.”

He hates that he notices the way Shane’s face falls, just so slightly, as he turns away and bolts from the library.

Ryan barely makes it back to his chambers without spiraling entirely into hysterics, dismissing his staff when he stumbles into his room; he’s sure he must look a mess, and a scandalous mess at that between how Shane’s fingers have left his hair, and his mouth— with his deep, rough kisses.

Surely he knows that Ryan can’t pass _this_ kind of message on to Sara, he’s barely allowed to hold her hand now, just weeks before their wedding. Of _course_ Shane would know that. So why would he have kissed Ryan, of all people? Purely for the pleasure of kissing him? Solely to see him panting and flustered and bright cheeked?

Either that, or he wanted to imagine Ryan kissing Sara in such a way, but why would he—

“Fuck,” he whispers, quietly to himself, still barely able to catch his breath. The thought is almost too much. “He just _wanted_ to.”

He sits on the edge of his bed, shaking with how fast his heart is beating, blood pumping furiously. His lips still sting. Belatedly, he realizes he’s hard.

Ryan can hardly get his pants unlaced fast enough.

.

The private dining room is empty when Sara arrives, which is unusual because Ryan has never been late to see her before. She realizes, as she takes a seat at the table, that’s she’s not irritated by his lateness but instead concerned. In fact, she doesn’t relax into her chair at all until the doors swing open and he appears, ten minutes after her.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” Ryan says, breathless as he slips into his seat, “I lost track of time, I hope you haven’t been waiting.”

“Not long,” Sara says, warmly. Ryan’s cheeks are pink and there’s a faint sheen of sweat on his brow, as though he’d been rushing to meet her. “Anyway, you had quite an exciting afternoon. I’d expect you to feel a little frazzled.”

Ryan looks up at her in surprise, eyes wide. There’s a kind of anxiety written on his features that she can’t figure out. 

“Pardon?” Ryan asks, quietly. He almost looks perturbed. Guilty, perhaps?

“I saw you in the courtyard,” Sara explains, slowly, “When you… you were training with the soldiers.”

“Oh, yes,” Ryan says with dawning realization, and his shoulders slump. “You’ll have to excuse me, I’m feeling a little off.”

He looks overheated perhaps. Maybe he’s running a fever.

“If you’d prefer to retire to your chambers for the night, that’s alright Ryan,” Sara says, gently, and sees Ryan’s expression relax slightly, affection in his gaze. “If you’re unwell.”

“No, no that’s alright,” he says, “I’m just tired, but I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day.”

“Oh,” Sara says, suddenly lost for words. Ryan smiles at her, close-lipped as the waitstaff arrive with their meals and start to set food out on the table. Once they leave and it’s quiet again, they begin to eat — in silence at first, as usual, and Sara is thankful as it takes her a few minutes to retrace her train of thought with Ryan stealing looks at her from the corner of his eye. Sara’s chaperones sit to the side, quietly conversing amongst themselves.

“You looked like you were having fun out there today,” Sara says, “You were smiling like— Well, I just haven’t seen you smile like that before.”

Ryan looks up at her from his plate, a neutral expression on his face. It seems intentionally blank.

“It was nice to let loose,” he says.

“Shane looked happy too, he doesn’t spar with the soldiers often.”

“He’s still incredibly quick, even without practice,” Ryan remarks, taking a long drink from his wine glass. “I wasn’t expecting him to… to fell me like that.”

Sara also takes a drink to distract herself; she feels as though it might be rude to point out that Ryan hadn’t exactly looked upset when Shane put him on the ground.

Ryan spares a glance towards the chaperones — Sara’s ladies, who had accompanied her in the yard today — and lowers his head slightly as he speaks to Sara, quieter this time, more intimate.

“Shane asked a favor of me today, asked me to give you something,” he says, so quiet that Sara leans in to hear him better. She’s positive that he’s blushing now, but she’s unsure why.

“Oh. A message?” she hasn’t forgotten Ryan’s offer, to let her and Shane continue to see one another after the wedding. She’d be lying if she said it wasn’t in the back of her mind often, but the truth is she’s growing rather fond of Ryan also.

“Something of the sort,” Ryan confirms, nodding. “Although it would be rather inappropriate of me to relay to you right now.”

In the shadows behind Ryan, Sara sees Lindsay’s head snap up in surprise, interest piqued.

“But I would like to give it to you,” Ryan adds, lightly, “Not yet, but soon.”

Sara feels like she’s on fire, her face burning, skin pebbling with goosebumps as her mind reels. What on earth had Shane said to Ryan that could be considered inappropriate? Where would he have gotten the chance?

“And where did he give you this message?” She finds herself asking, barely breathing.

Ryan plays with the corner of his napkin, a nervous tick of his that Sara’s noticed more than once.

“The library, my lady,” he says, and it sounds like an admission, “This late afternoon, we caught a moment alone.”

It shouldn’t startle Sara as much as it does, but the way Ryan speaks, the way he murmurs ‘ _a moment alone_ ’ feels as though there’s something hot and liquid sliding down Sara’s chest, into her belly. It almost sounds improper.

None of her ladies are chatting amongst themselves anymore (Nina at least has the decency to pretend to be absorbed in her book, but Sara sees her stealing a glance now and again).

“Oh,” she says, breathless. Ryan seems to be finished with his meal, pushing his plate away, planting his elbow on the table. Bad manners, but Sara doesn’t really care when he’s looking at her the way he is. He touches his mouth with his hand, and Sara wonders if his lips have always been so _pretty_. “Do you often… spend time alone with him?”

Ryan smiles at her, knowingly, “Well I’m hardly allowed to spend time alone with _you_.”

Sara blinks at him, surprised by his sudden boldness. He doesn’t take his eyes off her as she refills her wine glass herself, and takes another long sip.

“Whatever he wished for you to give to me, I’m sure you will give him my deepest thanks in return,” she tells him, fighting to keep her voice even. Her mind is positively racing with the possibilities — Shane had always loved to slip some kind of innuendo, some dirty twist into their conversation. There was no doubt he would do the same with a message he wished to pass along, especially with Ryan deciding it was too inappropriate for him to currently relay.

“Of course,” Ryan answers.

When they part ways for the evening, he extends his hand to her as usual, asking her the honor of kissing her hand goodbye. Sara steps closer than she usually would as she slips her fingers into his, and watches him lift her hand to his lips, bowing his head to her.

In actuality, the kiss is probably no different from any other that Ryan may offer her in the mornings or after dinner but, to Sara, it feels endless. The time between Ryan pressing his lips to her back of her hand and pulling away feels like an eternity, but one she’d happily stay in.

He lingers, lips grazing her knuckles as he pulls away. When he catches her eyes, holding her gaze meaningfully, she knows. Suddenly, Ryan’s flustered late arrival makes sense. After playing with Shane in the yard, Shane had found him in the library and—

Ryan’s mouth is so red.

_No._

No?

“Goodnight, my lady,” Ryan says, and his voice is so full of gravel that Sara barely manages to keep herself upright. It sounds like a bedroom voice if she’s ever heard one.

“Goodnight, Ryan,” she replies, squeezing his hand as he starts to slip away. He bows politely and takes his leave, only sparing her another glance as he reaches the end of the corridor and disappears from sight.

.

With mere days left before the wedding, the entire Palace is buzzing with both excitement and anxiety. Sara finds herself quieter in the mornings, sick to her stomach with nerves as Ryan watches on with worried eyes. It’s not him, she tries to assure him, just the weight of the entire situation leaving her restless and upset. He tries his best to comfort her, but little helps her as of late.

She _is_ surprised to realize that the thought of marrying Ryan, spending the rest of her life in his presence, doesn’t scare her quite as much as it had in the past. He’s proven himself a kind soul, if not always a gentle one, and quite a conversationalist.

In fact, they’re having a particularly nice conversation over breakfast (some gossip Ryan heard from the soldiers), when a message is delivered by one of the king’s men, requesting their presence at an important meeting in the afternoon.

“Both of us?” Sara asks, confused. She’s rarely invited to his councils, and would rather spend her afternoon outdoors or painting.

“Yes, your highness,” the messenger says, quietly. “I believe it is in relation to your upcoming nuptials.”

The admission doesn’t enlighten Sara any further. The most involvement she’s had with the planning so far has been her opinion on flower arrangements (she hadn’t had much to say on the topic) and her ceremonial gown (she had, maybe, _too much_ to say on that topic).

Ryan unfurls the note he’s been handed, and Sara dismisses the messenger, turning her attention to Ryan as he reads her father’s message.

“It looks like a meeting to discuss some of the more political arrangements,” he says, “to make sure everything is in order.”

“Oh,” Sara says, and nods as Ryan lets out a loud sigh. He hands the message over for her to read. For the first time, she notices that he doesn’t just look tired, but weary. She wonders if he sees it in her too. “I suppose we should get ready for the day, then?”

Ryan blinks down at his empty breakfast plate, and then up at Sara’s face. More often than not they get lost in their conversations, talk far later into the morning than is proper. Ryan seems almost disappointed to leave her so early on this particular morning.

“Yes, you’re right,” he agrees. “Excuse me, my lady.”

Sara smiles at him, suppresses a fond laugh. “You’re excused.”

Ryan smiles back at her, his eyes soft and dark. As always, he kisses the back of her hand before leaving, and Sara watches him go. After that, her ladies help her dress, slightly more formal than usual, for a noon meeting with her father and the council. Even as they’re lacing her into her gown and fixing her hair, she wonders if she’ll see Shane. She’s been missing him, lately, as Ryan seems to spend more time with him and shares more stories with her of their antics.

The meetings are held in an office near her father’s quarters, a rather large room referred to as the ‘war room’, although, there hasn’t been a war involving their kingdom since long before Sara was born. As she enters the room through its open double doors, a few members of the King’s Council turn to stare in surprise. 

(She wonders if they’ll still expect her to sit back quietly in the years to come when she becomes the Queen. If so, they’ll be sorely surprised.)

Shane, already seated near the head of the table, rises politely as she enters, and smiles in her direction. Shortly after, Ryan arrives too and is seated to Sara’s right, a little farther towards the head of the table. She doesn’t miss the way Shane smiles at him too, subtly nodding his head in greeting.

The meeting itself is rather boring, with very little happening in the kingdom but the upcoming wedding. The council discusses security measures and guard arrangements while Sara watches Shane roll a pen back and forth between his fingers. As dexterous as he is, there’s already a dark smudge in the center of his palm where he’s accidentally maimed himself.

“The final topic to address today,” Sara’s father begins, and she perks up a little bit, sitting more upright in her seat. She can’t help but notice that he looks rather uncomfortable. “Is in regards to the terms of the union between the Rubins and the Bergaras.”

Shane’s brow furrows slightly, as though it still stings to hear, and Sara feels it right in the pit of her stomach. She misses him so. She hates that he’s hurting.

“Our agreement, mine and King Bergara, was to marry our children and in doing so join our kingdoms, allowing easy trade across the country to where it is most needed in the West.”

Sara can think of several better solutions off the top of her head, but she keeps her mouth shut. It’s clear, by the look Shane sends her that he feels the same. She still remembers the words he’d used the day of the announcement, as she had cried in her bed. _Too archaic of a solution._

“The agreement was made to include not just the marriage, but an eventual heir to this kingdom to ensure the union,” the King says, with a heavy sigh. “And therefore we must assign a witness to be present at the consummation, to also ensure that at least an effort to produce an heir has been made.”

Sara feels something in her run cold, a pit forming in her stomach. Next to her, Ryan goes very still in his seat, staring out at the table. Sara can’t bring herself to lift her gaze, can’t bear to see the shocked expressions of the council around her.

The room is deathly quiet.

It’s an old, _old_ tradition, Sara knows this. But she had also previously known that she would never have to worry about it. Whoever had written the terms of the agreement — well, she frankly wonders what was going through their minds.

The thought of someone there, a witness to her first night with Ryan, makes her shudder. Part of her had wondered would they even get that far on the first night, whether it would be better to wait, let their relationship grow into something more. Now, the choice has been taken from her. 

“I must assign an advisor to witness,” the King sighs, looking around the room at his council, their uneasy gazes looking back at him. “I understand this is quite the uncomfortable undertaking, and you must all understand how difficult it is for me to—”

“I’ll do it.”

Shane is the only one _not_ looking at the King. He’s not even looking at Sara, but at Ryan next to her, who seems at a loss for words, or for _any_ reaction at all. Beneath the table, Sara notes his hand is shaking against his own thigh.

“Ser Madej?”

“If the Princess finds it agreeable, and if Prince Ryan has no objections, I would volunteer,” Shane says, and finally rips his gaze from Ryan’s to face the King.

“Well,” the King huffs, “I— I suppose...”

Sudden hope blooms in Sara’s belly, the thought that Shane might be there with them on their wedding night. Even as just a witness. Scandalous, yes, to have her past suitor present, but surely this was information that would not leave the war room?

“Prince Ryan?” the King asks, “Do you have any objections to this?”

Ryan glances quickly between Sara and Shane, and then to the king.

“None, Your Majesty,” he answers, “Unless my fiancée has any such concerns.”

Quickly, Sara shakes her head. This is the best possible outcome. There’s no one else she’d rather stand witness to her most vulnerable moment.

“I have no grievances.”

“Well then,” the King says, and looks around at his council, most of whom look a mixture of shocked and confused at the entire conversation. “Ser Madej will act as a witness during the eve of the consummation.”

Sara finally looks across the table to find Shane smiling almost imperceptibly, not at her, but at Ryan. Ryan stares back, very still in his seat, and when Sara reaches for his hand beneath the table he grips her tight. His palms are sweaty, but so are hers.

.

The night before the ceremony, Ryan finds himself awake in his bed into the small hours, almost frantic with nerves. His family’s arrival for the wedding, their presence just down the hall from him, is a small comfort, but his mind swims with other thoughts; mostly thoughts of Sara.

Eventually, when he can bear it no longer, it throws the covers back from his bed, slips on his evening coat over his sleep pants, and leaves his chambers. The hall guards send him a confused look as he passes by, but don’t move to follow him — at this time of night the castle is quiet, and there are guards on all corridors. If there’s trouble, there’s always someone nearby.

Unfortunately, this is the case when he gets closer to Sara’s rooms; her guards come forth to stop him before he even gets close to her door. 

“Your highness?” Officer Ilnyckyj takes a step towards him, and Ryan briefly thinks it strange for such a high ranking officer to be guarding the princess’s room. He doesn’t linger on the thought, too overwhelmed by his need to see his wife-to-be.

“I— I really need to speak with the princess,” he says, almost embarrassed as he watches the officer’s eyes soften so very slightly. He knows Ryan is no threat, but all of this is _highly_ inappropriate.

“I don’t think I can allow you in there,” he says, clearly and apologetically, seemingly ignoring Ryan’s hushed tone of voice. Ryan folds his arms, stubbornly.

“I know it’s late. I wouldn’t be here unless it was important, and— we’re, we’re getting _married_ tomorrow, this is ridiculous. I just want to speak to her for a moment. Please.”

Officer Ilnyckyj frowns for a moment, before repeating, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can allow you in there, Prince _Ryan_ ,” slightly louder, almost directing it over his shoulder towards the door into the princess’s chambers. Ryan’s not one for formalities, but he’s pretty sure that Ilnyckyj isn’t supposed to refer to him by name to his face.

“Wh—” Ryan begins to question, confused until he hears the soft click of the door’s locks, and sees Sara peering through the gap as she opens it.

“Unless the princess wishes to see you...” Ilnyckyj finishes, and steps aside.

“Ryan?” Sara asks, and her voice is slightly strained, as though she’d been crying. Ryan blinks at her, suddenly taken by the sight of her, hair askew and glasses perched delicately on her nose. Even when he sees her for breakfast in the morning, she’s usually been corralled into a robe, hair pulled back into a presentable bun by her ladies.

“I,” He finds himself at a loss for words. “Sara. I just wished to see you for a moment.”

Sara pulls her lower lip into her mouth and throws a glance towards the officer, who looks away politely, takes a few steps farther down the hall. She looks back at Ryan and extends her hand to him, which he takes gladly, and allows her to pull him into the room. When the door clicks closed again, Ryan’s sure he can feel his heart in his throat. 

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Sara asks, with a sympathetic smile, and Ryan squeezes her fingertips where they wrap around his palm.

“I just realized how nervous I am,” he admits, “and I just really wanted to see your face.”

“Your family are here,” Sara says, confused, and Ryan can read the question on her face. _Why didn’t you go to them?_ He doesn’t tell her that the thought of waking his parents or his brother for _this_ mortifies him. But Sara, no doubt, understands.

“After tomorrow, _you’re_ my family,” he says, quiet, desperate.

“It’s not such a terrible thought, is it?” Sara asks, and meets his eye with the tiniest smile curling at her lips. She pulls away from him, gently dropping her hand from his, and Ryan takes a moment to look around him at her room, as dark as it is. Though there is no fire in the hearth in the dead of summer, it appears she’d been sitting by the mantle, reading, when he interrupted. Ryan follows her in, notes the decanter of wine sitting on her side table, her glass empty save for the dregs.

“I thought it strange that Officer Ilnyckyj was guarding your room tonight,” he says, watching Sara sink back into her armchair, and pull her blanket back over her lap. He chooses to take a seat on the ottoman, closer to her than the other armchair.

“Andrew’s a dear friend,” Sara smiles, tilting her head. “We grew up together. He and Shane became close too when Shane was brought here. I think he wanted to be close to me tonight, if Shane couldn’t be.”

“He’s a good man,” Ryan agrees and thinks of all the times Officer Ilnyckyj has allowed him to sit in on training briefs, and offer his opinion. If Sara thinks highly of him, Ryan isn't surprised. “I don’t think he would have stopped me if I tried to knock on your door, before you heard me.”

“He knows you’re a good man too,” Sara adds, and Ryan is sure that he's blushing. “You _are_ , Ryan.”

“I try to be,” he affirms. “You seem to be rather lucky, surrounded by good men who adore you.”

Sara doesn't seem to want to meet his eye. She's blushing too — but Ryan is surprised when she lets out a quiet sob, sniffing quietly. She lifts the sleeve of her nightgown to hide her face, but there's no disguising the fact that she's crying again. Distraught, Ryan's slides to his knees at her feet. 

“Sara?” 

“You're right, I'm very lucky,” she chokes, and Ryan searches her tone for sarcasm, but doesn't find it. “I was so lucky to have Shane, when we were together. When that was taken away, I thought it was because I had grown too comfortable and the universe wanted me to suffer? I was cocky enough to think I, of all people, could marry for love. I thought, surely my new husband would be— a monster. Unlikeable. Unlovable. I'm very lucky that I was wrong.”

Still kneeling, Ryan reaches once again for Sara’s hand, his heart swelling as she slips her fingers into his, squeezing tight.

Sara sighs quietly. “You seem to have grown fond of Shane, too.”

Were they not alone, and could Ryan not hear the sweetness in her tone, Ryan is sure he would feel nothing but a pit in his stomach. As it is, he looks up and meets her watery smile and feels warmth spreading through him, starting in his core and blooming up under his collar.

“Quite,” he agrees, softly. “I like to think we’ve become close.”

He’s not sure he could work up the nerve to tell her just yet, about how he thinks about the kiss in the library almost every day, feels it fresh on his mouth every time he catches Shane’s eye, or hears Shane say his name. Even now, alone with Sara for the first time ever and trusting her completely, he just can’t push the words past the tip of his tongue.

“I already loved him, you know,” Sara says. “I don’t think I can stop.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Ryan presses, “I thought I made that clear— If I’m jealous it’s only because he knew you first. Before all of this.”

Another tear slides down Sara’s cheek, as she blinks her eyes closed.

“Do you think it’s possible? That I’ll someday love you both?”

Ryan thinks this may be the smallest he’s ever seen her, curled into a ball in her chair, dressed in just her nightgown, curls falling around her face. Her eyes a tired behind the round metal frames he rarely sees her wear in public.

“I don’t need that,” he says. “I _want_ it, yes. I always dreamed of marrying for love, and I know you did too. I already care for you a great deal Sara, and it _will_ be so incredibly easy to fall for you.”

He’s already _been_ falling, and not just for Sara.

“You feel for people so easily. I— I struggle,” Sara admits, her voice strained again.

“You don’t have to rush your feelings, Sara,” Ryan tells her, and rises to his feet again. Sara pulls her hand back once again, tucking herself into a ball. “We have time.”

“Indeed,” she agrees, softly.

“You should get some sleep, my lady,” Ryan tells her, and begins to pour her another glass of wine.

“Tomorrow night, when we– Are you really alright with Shane being there?”

“Would you rather someone else?” Ryan questions, raising a brow at her. Sara takes the cup of wine from him, holding it to her chest.

“That wasn’t my question,” she says, her tone suddenly sharp again. Her eyes are wet and narrowed, hard around the edges. Ryan purses his lips.

“I want him there more than anything.”

“Ryan—”

“I want him to see you, and to know that he can have you.”

Sara presses her fingertips to her mouth, and Ryan notices her white-knuckle grip on her cup.

“ _Ryan_ ,” she says again, softer, muffled by her own hand.

“He could have me too, if he wanted.”

Sara inhales sharply, lifting her cups to ger lips as though to disguise her gasp. Ryan watches her finish the entire cup, draining the last drop and setting it aside.

“Perhaps I should sleep, yes,” she says, and begins to rise out of the chair, taking Ryan’s arm for balance when he offers it. She takes him to the door, grip tight around his bicep, but doesn’t immediately reach for the handle. She instead stands close to him, so that they are almost chest-to-chest, moves her hand from his bicep down to his wrist, circling her fingers there and holding on. Ryan looks down, looks at the way her brow furrows, her mouth a tight line until she relaxes with a small sigh, licks her lips.

Ryan reaches up, delicately touches the tip of his index finger to her chin, because he can.

“Tomorrow, I’ll kiss you,” he says, and Sara huffs out a little laugh.

“You’ll do more than that,” she replies, curtly, and Ryan suddenly recognizes the anxiety in the furrow of her brow.

“Sara,” he says, and tips her face up towards his. “It’ll be alright.”

“I— I know,” she says, but the hesitancy is apparent in her entire body.

“It’s just you, me, and Shane. We’ll take care of you.”

Sara closes her eyes, tilting her face into his touch.

“Alright,” she echoes, and Ryan leans down to press his cheek to hers, a mockery of the kiss he _really_ wants to give to her.

After a moment, they pull apart, and Sara smiles genuinely at him for the first time that night. Ryan reaches for the handle himself, thankful that he wasn’t the only one terrified, and thankful to find even the slightest comfort here with Sara. He hopes he could provide the same for her.

“Tomorrow,” he says, again, and Sara nods in agreement, watching as he slips out, and pulls the door behind him.

In the hall, Andrew waits, looking up expectantly as Ryan steps out.

“Is all well, your highness?” he asks, and Ryan exhales a sigh of relief.

“Yes, I believe so.”

.

The wedding and the morning-of are somewhat of a blur to Sara. She is woken by her ladies and corralled into a bath, scrubbed pink and rubbed down with sweet-smelling oil. She’s laced into her undergarments while a small breakfast is served — she only drinks the tea, too nervous to even think about eating.

Her dress is brought to the room. It’s not as horrific as she remembers, and she feels a flutter in the pit of her stomach as she realizes her mother must have listened to her complaints, removing the majority of horrible frills and bows. That being said, it is still a rather heavy and traditional dress. White, silky over many petticoats, lace that covers her arms and shoulders tastefully. Part of her is morbidly curious to see Ryan’s expression when he sees her in it. Shane’s expression too.

They paint her face and pin her hair back, and by the time they are finished, Sara can hear the commotion of guests arriving outside, through her open window. She catches sight of herself in the mirror and thinks this is more makeup than she would wear on a normal day — but it’s not exactly a normal day today, after all. She looks… different.

“Sara?” Her mother asks, softly, when the staff is tidying up after her dressing. “Are you alright?”

Sara nods, finding the thing she’s most nervous about is not, in fact, the marriage, but the audience, having so many eyes on her at once when she is far more used to the palace being her place of solitude.

“Just keep your eyes on Ryan,” the Queen says. “You two are the only ones who matter.”

They pin her veil in place, and then it’s time to go.

She can’t see past the lace as they lead her down to the ceremonial temple. The temple itself is too small to fit all the guests, she can hear the buzz and hum of their conversations as they line the halls, and the way they all begin to fall silent as the procession passes them. She’s thankful for the heavy veil, obstructing her view of them, and from them, but the silence is unnerving. She follows the halls she knows by heart, staring down at the marble-tiled floors, her mother and party ahead of her, her ladies behind carrying the train of her veil.

Somehow, closer to the ceremonial temple, the silence only deepens. She feels it prickle along her skin beneath the lace, the gaze of every single guest, every noble and highborn in the country who could travel to see the union of the two kingdoms.

The only sound in the temple is the heels of her shoes against the tile as she makes her way to where Ryan is no doubt waiting for her.

She hears Megan and Nina come around her front to finally lift the veil — and then a slight moment of hesitation. Ryan clears his throat.

“Actually— May I?”

He wants to lift her veil.

It’s not unheard of, just— a romantic notion. If Sara had married Shane, he probably would have lifted her veil himself, but for an arranged marriage? It’s unusual, and Sara finds her stomach swooping sharply at the through of Ryan unveiling her himself. She’s suddenly glad she didn’t eat much that morning.

The bottom of the veil flutters, and then it’s delicately being lifted over her head and trailed down her back. The light coming through the high windows hits her and her eyes water, and then she’s seeing Ryan in his formal attire, looking like some kind of vision in crushed black velvet that contrasts her white silky gown, but the same gold accents. 

“Hello,” he says, quietly, when she meets his eye.

“Hi,” she says back, and feels her throat close up, preventing her from saying anything else. _Just keep your eyes on him,_ she thinks, _you two are the only ones who matter._ Except, that’s not exactly true.

The officiant begins to speak, but Sara barely listens. Standing just beyond Ryan is his brother, young Jake who is to become a king someday, wearing the family colors black, purple, and gold. Next to him is a man that Sara doesn’t recognize, possibly a cousin or close friend of the Bergaras, also wearing their colors. Sara briefly wishes she’d ever thought to ask Ryan more about his life before all of this, feels a pinprick of shame at her neglect.

But then she sees Shane, standing just slightly further back but still obviously part of Ryan’s party. He stands in his officer’s uniform, the deep forest green of the Rubin family crest. There’s a small purple pin in his lapel that she’s sure Ryan had something to do with. He looks serious and handsome, hair slicked back, beard trimmed neatly. But he smiles, just so slightly when he catches Sara’s eye.

She’s known the vows practically since birth, and lets Ryan wrap his hands around hers as they speak in unison. It’s a short ceremony, but important. Ryan slides a delicate gold ring onto her finger, and she does the same for him, thinking of how warm and steady his hands feel in hers. He squeezes her fingers when they shake.

And then, they must seal their vows with a kiss. A simple peck will do, but Ryan surprises her by cupping his palms around her cheeks, tilting her face up to his as he leans down to kiss her— and Sara feels frozen to the spot.

But then she melts.

The heat of Ryan’s body and the sun through the window, the slight scrape of his stubble against her skin. She’s going to look _wrecked._ She can’t believe he’s kissing her like this in front of the entire court. Sure, there’s no tongue (and part of her aches for it, for something deeper), but there’s _intent_ there.

She leans into his hand as he’s pulling away, and there’s a soft murmur through the court. Over Ryan’s shoulder, she sees Shane is smiling again, and suddenly Ryan’s intent makes absolute sense.

.

After the ceremony there is, of course, a celebration. Food, wine, dancing. Ryan takes her for a turn around the floor, but neither of them are really interested in dancing and spend their time at the head table eating and talking with guests who come to congratulate them.

The later into the evening it gets, the more anxious Sara becomes — but not for the reason she’d expected. The party is loud and bustling, frankly overwhelming between sights and sounds and scents and sensations. She begins to look forward to the quiet of her chambers, her evening with Ryan — and with Shane.

She’s _relieved_ most of all when Lindsay appears and requests the princess’s attention, calling her away from a particularly jovial group of guests who had decided to impose themselves upon Sara and Ryan. Ryan carefully helps her to her feet — necessary in such a large gown — and gently kisses the back of her hand as she draws away from him, earning him a few ‘awws’ from their spectators.

Sara is led to her chambers to be dressed for bed, far earlier in the evening than she had expected. Her gown is carefully unlaced and stripped, and she’s ushered into a light, silky white robe, tied with a sash on the waist. She is to wait for her husband on the bed.

Her ladies say their goodnight and leave her alone, sat at the foot of her bed, legs curled up.

A year ago, she would have imagined her wedding night to be with Shane, a tender affair. Not that she finds Ryan unbeddable — quite the opposite, really — but even after the months of their new courtship and preparation for this night, she still feels quite uncertain.

She’s pulled from her thoughts, which were quickly turning fraught, as Ryan enters the room, followed by Shane, both of them looking a little pink-cheeked. 

“Was beginning to think you got lost,” Sara says, watching both of them blush even deeper, cheeks turning a surprising shade of red. Shane clears his throat.

“I was thanking Ryan, for passing along my gift to you at last,” he says, and Sara thinks about his phrasing. To pass along a gift would mean Shane would have had to give it to Ryan first before Ryan gave it to Sara — and if she’s correct in thinking he means a kiss, then that means—

“You’ve been kissing a lot of people, Ryan,” she says, thoughtfully. Ryan huffs out a little laugh.

“I work fast,” he says, a slight smirk on his lips as he looks over at Shane and winks. 

Shane winks back and, without another word, takes a seat in the armchair by the hearth; Sara notices that there’s a fresh decanter of wine left for him on an end-table. Both men are very quiet until Ryan catches her eye again, and his face softens instantly, eyes turning gentle.

“Not that you didn’t look beautiful today, but I’m incredibly glad they got you out of that gown,” he says, softly. Shane snorts, pouring himself a glass.

“It was monstrous, right?” Sara begins to grin. “All those frills.”

“You made it work,” Ryan replies, and begins to shrug off his jacket. “But I prefer you like this.”

“Almost naked?” Sara asks, lifting an eyebrow.

“When you’re just Sara,” he says, surprising her. Shane makes another soft noise as he sinks fully into his armchair, starting to drink from his glass, and both Sara and Ryan look to him, in waiting.

“You’re insufferable,” is all he says, and drinks deeply.

Sara wants to ask him if he really wants to be there, if this is something he can handle, but knows the question would be pointless. There’s no one in this room who’s not meant to be there. There’s no one else she or Ryan would rather have as their witness.

Ryan carefully takes the glass of wine from Shane, their finger overlapping, eyes locked as Ryan drinks deeply from the glass too, and then crosses the carpet again to let Sara drink. It’s only wine, but they need all of the courage they can get.

“I think he’s _quite_ sufferable, actually,” Sara replies, minutes too late but uncaring. Ryan beams at her, eyes hungry. It’s been barely hours since they shared their first kiss, but she’s seen this look on his face before, the brazen want of it, and the way his emotions are always so plain on his face, in his expressive eyes.

Shane’s glass finds it’s way back into his hands, and he’s pouring himself a second drink as Ryan takes Sara’s hands and places them at the front of his shirt, flat against his chest.

There’s something almost unbearably intimate about unbuttoning a piece of clothing for another person, something vulnerable. She starts at his throat and unbuttons down, slowly revealing skin. There’s no point in dancing around what they’re both here to do. Ryan’s chest is smooth and tan under his crisp white shirt, and it’s truly ridiculous how hesitant Sara is to put her mouth on her husband’s skin.

Over Ryan’s shoulder, Shane meets her eye across the floor and gives an encouraging nod. Sara looks up, finding Ryan’s eyes already on her, and she holds his gaze and watches him bite his lip as she places a gentle kiss against his sternum.

“Are you nervous?” He asks, and there’s a tremble in his voice. 

Sara says, “I trust you,” because he already knows she is. 

Sara tugs his shirt free from his pants and starts to push it down his shoulders, and suddenly Shane looks intently interested in proceedings. She understands why when she feels the tug of Ryan's hand at the sash of her robe. 

"May I?" he asks, and Sara nods, sucks on her lower lip as Ryan gently removes her robe. She can hear Shane’s intake of breath across the room as the robe slips from her shoulder, falling into a pool around her waist. She can’t imagine how she must look to the two men, pale even in the firelight, skin glossy from the oils she had been rubbed down with, made soft and pliable for her husband’s touch.

Ryan’s hand hovers near the curve of her breast, hesitant to touch, and Sara carefully slips her hand over his, pulls him in to touch her. He drags the pad of his thumb over her nipple, and it pebbles under the touch, and Sara feels a tug of _want_ in her stomach, low down. He kneels before her, her prince-consort, so very reverent, and runs his fingers along the outside of her thighs, and then between to spread her.

And then, he hesitates.

Sara waits, patient, to see what he will do, and Ryan just looks up at her, glassy-eyed, his face in shadow. He’s nervous too.

When Shane speaks, the two of them startle, and Ryan hangs his head a little, rolls his shoulders.

“She’s not ready for you yet,” Shane says, and Ryan shakes his head a little. When Sara looks over at him, he holds her gaze. “You know what to do.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says, quietly, bowing his head ever further to gently kiss the inside of Sara’s knee. “I want— Sara, let me put my mouth on you, please?”

Sara’s leg twitches in surprise, and she feels herself sinking into her sheets, overwhelmed at just the _thought_ of Ryan using his mouth on her.

“Of course,” she hears herself saying, and Ryan kisses her knee again, this time there’s the scrape of teeth against her skin, it makes her shudder. “Fuck. _Please_ do.”

“Such a mouth for a queen,” Shane murmurs.

“Not queen _yet_ ,” Sara hisses, and Ryan slowly works his way up, broad shoulders spreading her thighs wider, opening her up to him. “Maybe you should watch your tongue— _oh_.”

Ryan catches her by surprise mid-sentence, dragging his tongue up between her folds, warm and wet like nothing she’s ever felt before. He whispers her name as he brings his fingers up to spread her, licking inside again carefully, barely even touching, and Sara’s hand automatically falls to his hair to push him closer, encouragingly.

Sara’s eyes close: she can hear the fire crackling, Ryan’s kisses into her center becoming deep and wet, her own ragged breathing, and the way Shane swallows his wine and sucks in a trembling breath.

“Lick her clit, Ryan,” he says, a little sharp.

“Don’t worry, he knows,” Sara sighs, and then almost closes her thighs around Ryan’s head as he drives the point home with a particularly wet kiss, suckling at her.

“Is it good?” Shane asks.

“So good,” Sara replies, with a reassuring stroke through Ryan’s hair. He hums happily, eyes fluttering up to look at her, and the combo of the visual and vibration leaving Sara breathless when she looks at him. It’s ridiculous how close she is already, can feel that familiar warmth building in her core, knows the way she aches for something inside her is indicative of just how ready she is. “Ryan, please.”

He pulls off of her with a muted, wet noise, groaning quietly.

“Anything, sweetheart,” he mumbles, punctuated with another sucking kiss, the tip of his index finger nudging against her opening. Sara — who has never had anything but her own fingers inside herself — positively shakes with the need she feels, and cries out when he pushes inside.

Ryan is careful with her, stroking her inside with the pad of his finger as he does the same outside with the flat of his tongue. Like this, feeling so overwhelmed, so entirely new to the touch of another person, Sara comes apart against his lips, shuddering, clenching around Ryan’s finger, thighs closing around his ears.

Ryan sits back when she pushes him away, panting. They’re not nearly done yet, and she’s already so sensitive.

“First time you made a woman come, Ryan?” Shane asks, and Sara wants to roll over into her pillow, cheeks burning.

“First time that mattered,” Ryan replies, and gets to his feet, drawing his fingers up the length of Sara’s leg to her hip, and slipping his arm around her waist to pull her closer. “How’re you doing?” he asks.

“That was… much nicer than my own hand,” she says, and tries not to grin when Shane swears under his breath, and Ryan’s throat bobs.

“Would you take me, now?” He asks, breathy. Sara grins.

“Shouldn’t I be asking that?”

Ryan’s eyes soften even further, if possible, and he kisses the tip of her nose, the line of her jaw, voice dropping to barely a whisper.

“I’d like to show you off to him. Do you think he’d like that? Would _you_?”

Sara swallows thickly. “For Shane?”

“There’s no one else watching,” Ryan points out, and drags his teeth against the tender skin of her neck. “And no one else I’d _let_ watch.”

Ryan stands again at the foot of the bed and starts to undo his boots, stepping out and tossing them aside before making a start on the laces of his dress pants. Sara realizes, mouth suddenly dry, that she can see that he’s hard through the fabric, and she can’t hold back from reaching out, softly placing her palm over the bulge as Ryan’s hand freezes, and he bites his lip.

“Sara,” he says, tightly, and she uses her thumb to trace the hard line of him over the cloth.

“You enjoyed doing that? To me?”

Ryan licks his lips, and she wonders just how he tastes.

God. They haven’t even kissed since the ceremony.

“Yeah,” he says, a little choked. “Really.”

Sara takes a breath and starts to tug at the waist of his pants, laces loose enough for the fabric to give. When she frees his cock, Ryan’s sigh is swallowed up by the sound of Shane’s groan as he sinks a little lower into his chair. 

“How do you want me?” She asks, and her fingers twitch as she aches to touch him, wondering how he would feel in her hand.

Ryan spares Shane a glance over his shoulder, and takes a moment to kick his trousers the rest of the way off, nudging them aside with his foot. When he rises to full height again, he takes Sara’s face in his hands, and kisses her so very sweetly, deeply, slipping her his tongue in full view of their witness.

“Up, on the bed please,” Ryan says, and when Sara nods he pulls her towards the sheets, already messed from where she’d lain and twisted as he’d made her come. “This way,” he murmurs, and puts her on her hands and knees facing the foot of the bed, and leaning down to her ear to whisper, “So you can look at him.”

Sara feels hot again as she looks up and finds Shane, leaning forward in his seat, lips parted and soft. The bedding shifts beneath her as Ryan kneels behind her, and this way he can see Shane too, she realizes, each new thought molten as it runs through her, hot and wet. Ryan sighs behind her, and for all his bravado the sound trembles out of him. She’s not sure why _he’s_ nervous when one look at his cock tells her that it’s larger than anything she’s taken inside before.

“Tell me if you need me to stop,” he says, and Sara nods, lowering her head down into her folded arms with a sigh, waiting. She feels something warm and soft against her opening, and then — nothing.

“What,” Ryan says, but he’s clear he’s not addressing her.

“Didn’t say anything,” Shane shrugs, which actually says quite a lot. Sara feels the flat of Ryan’s hand stroking over her back, and the touch is so gentle — _Ryan_ , is so gentle with her — that she almost feels like she’s sinking into the mattress. She lifts her hips to him, encouraging, and hums happily when she feels his fingers probing at her, the soft wet noise as he slips one inside and feels her.

“She’s ready for me,” Ryan says, and Sara rolls back against his hand, needy.

“So take her,” Shane replies, and again Sara feels that wave of heat, and it’s as though she could melt. She feels the head of his cock against her opening, the pressure of him pushing, pushing, until it slides inside her. She can’t help but gasp at the feeling, this new kind of stretch.

Ryan’s lips on the back of her neck. “That’s it,” he says into her ear. “So good.”

Shane, sounding choked, says, “Yeah?”

“Fuck,” Ryan groans, and sits upright, the movement pushing him just that much deeper inside. “I won’t last.”

Shane makes a noise that could be a laugh or a moan. “And Sara?”

Sara lifts her head to look at him, finding him at the edge of his seat, elbow on his knee and chin in his palm. He's barely six feet away, but she wants him so much closer. The girth of Ryan’s cock inside her is almost too much, and yet she thinks if she could have Shane too, she would in a heartbeat.

“Sara,” he says again, and it’s almost pleading. Ryan is deep in her, sunk to the root, and his first thrust practically punches the air from Sara’s lungs.

“Full,” she gasps. “So, so full.”

“Fuck,” Ryan hisses, gripping her shoulder to pull her back on him.

“Bet it feels like he’s splitting you right open, he’s so thick,” Shane says, and both Sara and Ryan moan. Ryan’s next thrust pushes her forward on the sheets, and she grabs at them, scrambling for purchase. “Don’t often see a cock like that.”

“God, it’s so good,” Sara pants, and she’s not even embellishing. There’s something terribly delicious about the way Ryan spreads her, drives in deep, the way the head of his cock pulls at her opening before he can slip all the way free.

“Ever had something that big?” Shane asks her, and she can feel the deep rumble of Ryan’s groan vibrate through her on a particularly hard thrust. When she looks up, Shane has risen from his seat altogether, looking as though he’s seconds away from either fleeing or fucking.

“Not more than two of my fingers,” she says, and Ryan whispers another _fuck_ , and suddenly—

Sara’s being pulled upright, spread over Ryan’s lap, and she squeals in surprise at the sudden change in position. Somehow his cock feels even better like this, and she lolls back against his shoulder, taking every thrust he pushes up into her.

“Get on the floor,” Ryan says, and Sara’s confused until she hears rustling, looking down at Shane as he kneels at the foot of the bed. He’s so very close, it’s— it’s _scandalous,_ is what it is. If anyone were to walk in on them, to see _this_. Sara shudders at the thought, but she’s not necessarily sure it’s the bad type of shudder. “I want you to see.”

Ryan spreads her with his fingers, and she really is just inches from Shane’s face. One particularly good thrust from Ryan might just push her forward, right up against him. She wants it, wants to use his mouth and chin and nose to get off again while Ryan fucks her — and instead she gets a sudden, hot breath on her clit as Shane pants, so fucking close. He must be able to smell her, feel her heat. Surely he can see how wet she is, dripping down Ryan’s cock with every slide.

“Think you could get her off again?” Shane breathes. “Doesn’t she deserve it? Your queen, Ryan?”

Ryan’s lips press against her ear, sticky and warm, teeth catching at her earlobe.

“You want that, Sara?” he asks, and she’s not beyond begging, wants to come on his cock, hear the sound he makes when she tightens around him like a vice.

“Please,” she whispers, and in seconds there are fingers on her clit, rubbing in time as he grinds into her.

“Slower,” Shane croaks, like it isn’t his job to sit there and wait until Ryan comes, and then announce it to the court. His lips are bitten red, cheeks hot, his hair a mess, and he hasn’t even been touched. Sara can’t begin to imagine what he’d look like if he were allowed to touch them — if they were allowed to touch _him_ — because the thought alone, of Shane sharing their marriage bed, has her quickly hurtling towards her second orgasm.

“Ryan,” she warns, riding back on him, thighs shaking with the strain. “I’m—”

“I know,” he sighs, and doesn’t let up. “I’m close. So fucking—”

“ _Ryan_ ,” she whines louder, but she’s looking at Shane, his eyes dark and wild as he watches from between her legs, his hands gripping the sheets at the end of the bed much the way she had. She wonders if he’s hard in his slacks — he _must_ be — and how easy it would be to just slip her hand around him and make him come.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, “Sara.”

“Sara,” Ryan echoes, strained in her ear, and then she’s coming again, Ryan’s arm around her ribs holding her upright and his other hand between her legs, stroking her as she trembles, pulsing around his cock. She thinks she might love this, being filled so entirely, two sets of eyes on her, loving her too.

Shane, still on his knees, is looking just past her shoulder where she can feel Ryan’s lips, his wet kisses.

“You need to—” Shane clears his throat. “You have to come, inside her.”

Ryan groans, and Sara turns her head to get a look at him as his arm around her gets tight, pulling her back against him, the fingers he’d been using on her clit sliding lower, gently touching where they’re joined, where she’s open and wet around him. She’s still coming down, throbbing, sensitive, and Ryan is so close that she can feel him twitch and swell inside her — it’s almost too much.

“Ryan,” she whines, “please,” as he pushes all the way in one final time, hilts himself inside her and shudders, swears up a storm into the curve of her neck as he’s coming. It feels — far more pleasant than she thought it would, being filled up like this, stretched, with Ryan deep and wet inside her.

The fire crackles, and they pant together quietly, and Shane waits patiently until he can’t wait anymore.

“Let me see,” he croaks, and Sara gasps a little when Ryan pulls out, and she feels him drip out of her. Shane swears under his breath, and she feels Ryan moving underneath her.

“C’mere,” he says, quietly, Shane shuffles even closer, as close as he can, and as Ryan wrings the last of his come from his cock it drips down onto Shane’s chin with little flourish. It’s so simple, so purely filthy, that Sara moans weakly when Shane’s tongue darts out to taste, and she wonders if he can taste the both of them, hopes he can.

Shortly after, Shane gets to his feet, and Ryan helps Sara to get comfortable on the bed. She’s drifting, almost slipping into sleep when she feels Ryan cleaning her off with a warm cloth. _Considerate_ , she thinks, and cracks an eye to smile up at him. He’s flushed and tousled, so very handsome in the firelight.

“I should go now,” Shane says, voice rough. Sara, though sore and thoroughly spent, pushes herself into a sitting position, stretched out her aching limbs. Shane leaving is the last thing she wants.

“Don’t,” she rasps, and Shane smiles at her crookedly, longingly.

“I have a duty to fulfill too, you know,” he replies, and Ryan chuckles to himself, climbing down to the end of the bed, likely to show Shane out. He picks a robe from the floor, the one he’d divested Sara of, and slides it on. 

When Shane reaches out to tie the sash for him, Sara knows that he could have touched either of them any time he wanted to — could have put his hands on her. She’s not quite sure why he didn’t. Tradition? It’s never been something Shane’s been particularly concerned with. Respect for their union? Less laughable but still not quite believable. She wants to ask, but before she can find the words, Shane’s giving them a short, half-hearted bow — more out of habit than actual need — and making a beeline for the exit. 

Sara expects Ryan to come back to bed, crawl in wearily next to her, hold her until she falls asleep, but he makes a detour on the way and instead pulls open the drawer of her drawing table, rifling around inside.

“Ryan?” she calls.

“You have paper in here, right?” he asks.

“Yes?” Sara replies, confused. “There are pens in there too. What are you up to?”

“I don’t think he knows,” Ryan sighs, softly, producing some sheets of writing paper and a pen from Sara’s table. He finally returns to the bed, dropping the robe once more, kneeling up beside Sara, passing her the materials as he slides in underneath the covers next to her. “I mean, he _knows._ Just maybe not how much.”

“How much what?” Sara frowns.

“How much… we both want him,” Ryan says, like an admission. 

Sara laughs. “What, and we’re going to write him a letter, telling him?”

Ryan grins at her, slow, dirty. “Yes. Well, _you’re_ going to write. I feel he might prefer your hand.”

“ _Ryan,_ ” she laughs again, and Ryan dips to kiss her naked shoulder, her clavicle, the soft skin below her ear. Already she can feel simmering heat in her belly, in her aching thighs, and wonders if she could have him more than once tonight.

“I want Shane to know, to be _sure_ , that there is nothing I would like more than to kneel for him. Have him in my mouth. What do you think?”

Sara swallows, thickly. She’s not seen Shane’s cock, but if it’s anything like Ryan’s, or if it’s even proportionate to Shane’s overall size, it’d be quite the mouthful. The thought makes the corners of her mouth tingle, as though her lips are already being stretched.

“I think that’s… rather noteworthy,” she sighs, as Ryan nips at her earlobe with his teeth. He nudges the pen into her hand.

“So take note.”

Sara begins to write.

**Author's Note:**

> This is most likely not the end. I'm too attached to leave this 'verse here, and I have future plans for this particular trio!! 
> 
> Happy birthday, Ryan. Lmao.


End file.
